


Powdered Sugar

by Arsenic



Series: Discipline and Punish [39]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-18
Updated: 2007-11-18
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Frank makes some plans.





	Powdered Sugar

Frank made a deal with himself when Bob's parole came through: he could have a solid week of feeling absolutely miserable for himself; then he had to fucking get on with things. The deal was working out well for him for the first three days. Zack was easy to mope around, because all a person had to do was ask a question related to bike engines or aerodynamics and Zack could run a conversation by himself for hours. And so long as Tommy was near, Frank didn't have to worry for anyone's safety.

On the fourth day, though, it went completely to shit when Tommy asked him in the dark of lights out, "What's it feel like? Knowing you have somewhere to go? You think maybe it's worse?" He sounded like he wanted to hope, hope that something could be worse than the awareness of knowing the world was just a different sort of prison--one, possibly, without a protector.

Suddenly, Frank's self-indulgence seemed kind of, well, indulgent. "Maybe a little," he said, to give Tommy something. And maybe he wasn't lying completely. Frank had been in pain lots of times throughout the course of his life, but nothing like the way he felt if he allowed himself to think about Mikey, really think about him, about the way powdered sugar would cling to his lips if given the slightest chance, the way he combined gentleness and ferocity without even seeming to notice the oxymoronic nature of the acts, the way he packaged himself up around others, held himself inside, only unwrapping when it was just Frank and him. There were a million things Frank had to make himself avoid thinking about in any given day--the way Mikey always opened one eye first in the morning, like there might be something there, ready to get him, or the way Mikey was kind of horrible at telling jokes, but they were always funny to Frank regardless. But so long as he could manage, he could keep himself upright, keep himself breathing, keep himself as sane as anyone else in this place was, maybe a little more. And now that Tommy was asking, now that Frank was forced to consider it, he knew he wouldn't have traded the ever-present possibility of agony for the reality of being released into a world that cared as little about him as this prison did.

Tommy said, "Yeah, maybe." He didn't sound like he really believed it, for all he wanted to.

"What-- Where are you going to go?" Frank asked, even knowing it wasn't any of his business, that Tommy was more likely to snap at him than answer.

But after a long second Tommy just said, "The Y. Isn't that were all the unwanteds go?"

Softly, Frank said, "Mikey went to the Y." Frank tried not to finish the thought in his head, not to follow it through to the letters with Mikey's professed hatred for the place, to the months of living cold and alone in a place not fit for habitation.

"He was waiting for Gerard, though, right?"

 _And me._ Frank bit back a sigh, mostly so that Tommy wouldn't have to hear it. "Have any idea what you're going to do about a job?"

"Try and find one," Tommy said.

Frank didn't laugh. "You have your high school diploma?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Any skills?"

"Mostly ones that are good in a heist."

"How about interests?"

Tommy was quiet for a long time after that, but Frank didn't press, because for all he knew Tommy was thinking, or embarrassed to admit that he'd never really considered it, or just afraid to talk about his interests for fear they were used against him. Finally, Tommy said, "I used to like to take pictures. Nothing, you know, real, just, if a friend had a camera, or something, and we were out, or, um, there was this one time in juvie when they let us take week long classes. You got good behavior points for it, right? And photography was an option, so I, well, that's the only _real_ experience I have and the teacher said I had an interesting perspective, but I think they might have warned the teachers that we could be violent little fucks, so--"

"But you liked it?" Frank interrupted.

"Things looked--" Tommy stopped, breathed shortly for a bit, and Frank wasn't sure he was going to continue, but he finished, "different. Different behind the lens."

Frank didn't have to ask if it was a good kind of different. He could hear it plain in Tommy's voice. "Okay," he said, and, "Good night."

He was almost asleep when Tommy murmured, "Thanks."

Frank didn't ask what the gratitude was for. He was a little afraid to find out.

 

*

_Mikeyway,_

_I've tried starting this letter with pleasantries twice and I looked like an asshole both times. I have a favor to ask. A big one._

_You've met Tommy. From what you've said in your letters, you seem to think he's an all right kid. He is, really. And I think if he gets out there and he doesn't have anyone that he'll just end up right back in here and he doesn't deserve that. I know the place you and Bob and Gee are sharing isn't really that spacious, but you have a sofa, right? You think he could stay, just for a little bit? I'm working on the other part, figuring out a plan for him. He has a high school diploma and he likes taking pictures and he's been working in the mailroom, so he has, like, I don't know, sort of kind of administrative experience? Anyway, I'm thinking about it. If you have ideas, they'd be welcome, or if you know people who have ideas, that would be good._

_I can ask my mom, if you're not okay with it, but I think it would be easier on him if it was people who'd been in here. Who kind of get what he'll be going through._

_Speaking of my mom, she brought me a day-planner with pictures of tattoos every second week. She'd already marked off the days leading up to when she gave it to me. I've been keeping it up. Days are long motherfuckers, I don't care what you say._

_Frank_

 

*

_Frank,_

_At least it's winter, and they're not as long as they will be. When this is over, when there are no more calendars to mark the days off, I think I'll like winter with its long nights. But I also think I'll like summer, then. I think, honestly, everything will be pretty good._

_Yes, Tommy can come stay with us. I talked it over with Gee and Bob, and I think there's a slight chance that Bob actually sort of_ likes _the idea. Also, I talked with Brian about looking to find him a job. We're going to do some networking. I'll talk with Matt and I'll have Bob talk with Gabe, his parole officer, who's a little on the completely fucking insane side, but also fairly awesome. Gee says he'll talk with some people he's meeting through the label about where a starting photographer could get an internship or something. It would be total grunt work, and I don't know if he's the kind to stick it out, but anyway, we've got this one for you. Sit back and let us take care of it._

_You owe me a candy bar. Or two. Just saying._

_Mikeyway_

 

*

Frank rinsed his mouth after brushing his teeth one night and asked, "What would you think about going to stay with Mikey and Gee for a bit? Until you can get on your feet?"

Tommy poked his head out from his bunk, looked at Frank and said, "Um. What?"

Frank shrugged. "It's not exactly luxury accommodations; just a sofa and a bathroom shared with three other guys, but the bathroom has a door on it and a single person shower, so that's something."

Tommy blinked. "Not to sound stupid, but I don't think I understand."

Frank climbed into his bunk and hung his head over the side so as to look at Tommy. "Mikey hated the Y."

"Okay," Tommy said slowly.

"The idea of you in there without anyone to wait for sucked a little."

"Right, but--"

"I just wanted to do something good for you that didn't have to hurt."

"Frank--"

Frank shook his head. But Tommy just said, "No, no. You didn't have to. I get this us thing. I do. It took a while and there are times still, yeah, when I just wish-- But you don't-- I owe _you_."

"Take Mikey and Gee up on their offer, then. And let them help you find a job."

"I gotta be upfront, man. Seems like shitty payment."

"We have different ways of viewing the world," Frank told him, not all that bothered by it.

Tommy frowned. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

Frank smiled and pushed himself fully back onto his bunk.

 

*

"Mikey says you're sending them a present. A live one." His mom's mouth crooked in something that was almost a smile.

"You can steal him every once in a while. He needs a mom. I just don't think he needs to live with one."

"Oh, well, there's a relief. For a minute there I thought you were trading me in for a better model." And that was definitely an ironic smile.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ma, for _Mikey_ and his child-bearing hips."

"There goes my theory about who wears the pants in that relationship."

Frank planted his face on the counter in front of him. His mom--the devil, same difference--laughed.

 

*

"Mikey wrote me another letter," Tommy said. Frank didn't respond since--seeing as how he was the person who had handed Tommy the letter--he was pretty sure Tommy knew he knew. Hence, this was just an introduction to more interesting news. Sure enough, Tommy continued, "He said Jon, one of the guys at the place he works, is willing to teach me a lot of the basics that I probably haven't learned with photography, and then maybe Gee can get me an internship with a guy who works with a indie magazine that focuses on bands. Someone through the label he's been drawing for."

Tommy's voice was rushed, a little quiet. Frank couldn't read it straight away. He gave himself a few seconds. Then he asked, "Is this not good?"

"I told you I never did anything real. I told you. And it wasn't like-- I mean, I didn't say that was just information you could fucking give out at will, like I'm some kind of Gerard, like I do things right sometimes. I can't fucking believe--"

"Tommy." Frank said it softly. He didn't even really expect to be heard, for it to stop Tommy, but it did.

Tommy panted a little, clearly not having breathed throughout the beginning of his rant. "That wasn't yours. And I'm not-- I'm not--"

"You don't know what you are," Frank said. "You don't. You've never had a chance to find out."

"And you really think _now_ is a good time to start? Now when I'm legal and I need a paycheck so that I'm not living on somebody else's couch for the rest of my life?"

Frank sifted through a few answers. In the end, the only one he came up with was, "Yes."

"I hate you," Tommy informed him.

"What's new?"


End file.
